Just A Sunday

That's the view from the backyard looking at the old kitchen and behind that, the laundry room. There's a little deck separating them. Back when the house was built, they separated the kitchen from the house because of the threat of fire (of course they used a woodstove to cook on and bake in) and also, to keep the heat of the kitchen out of the house. 
If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen. 

I used to use that space as my writing room, back when I worked on an iMac. I have been mourning the time when I did that. When I was still believing that I could be an author. I wrote books. None of them got published. It was a primally satisfying experience though and for awhile, I had hope it would happen. I had an agent. There was interest. No one bought. 
Oh well. 
Now Mr. Moon uses the old kitchen as an office. He keeps his files in there and his desk. At first I was truly resentful when he moved his stuff in there. It felt like I had had a room of my own and then it was taken away from me but the honest truth is- I wasn't using it. I write what I write now on my laptop, mostly on the porch. And in the house where we lived before this one, he made me an office of my own out of an old pool house. Oh, how I loved that room! I had what might have been some of the best times of my life in there, by myself, writing away as the hours passed like seconds. 

So yes, it was another day of intensely blue skies. It's been cooler today, not even getting up to 70°. I did what little laundry I had just so I could hang it on the line. I worked outside again. I am discovering that the roots on the white mouth dayflower are as prolific and pernicious as that of any of my other invasive plants. The very tricky thing about it is how easily the roots break and of course, each little piece left in the ground is just going to make more of itself. So I am not sure that I'm not making the problem worse as every time I do not get an entire runner, I am leaving parts of it to sprout and I'm not certain I'm ever getting an entire runner. But I am working at it. 
I noticed today when I went out to the clothes line that the roses growing by the old shed are once again gangly, desperately needing a trim and that the bed they're in is filled with betony which is another weed that is impossible to get rid of. It too, has runners. 
So after I spent some time digging things up that will only reappear, I trimmed all the fronds off of a sago palm. This is easy with long-handled loppers. Snip, snip, snip. Gather the fronds, take them to the burn pile. I really wish I didn't have all the sago palms I have. I just googled, "How hard is it to dig up a sago palm?" and this was the overview answer:

"Digging up a sago palm is considered a challenging task due to its extensive, fibrous root system that spreads out near the soil surface, making it difficult to fully extract the plant without significant effort and patience; many gardeners consider it a laborious process requiring careful digging and potentially multiple attempts to remove the entire root ball. "

Hahahahahahaha!

Sigh.

I haven't felt as at peace today as I did yesterday. I don't have any more 
idea as to why than I ever do about why I have good days. I don't think
I'm lonely. In fact, the more days I spend by myself, the harder it is to 
imagine being around others. It's weird. I'm weird. But it's been a bit of
a struggle today. I will admit that. When I sat down at the piano my soul
couldn't seem to settle enough to enjoy what I was doing. 

I read an article in the New Yorker newsletter today about maritime 
archeologists excavating slave ship wrecks and that definitely did not
work as a mood-enhancer. Sometimes it seems to me that the entire 
history of the United States and, in fact, humanity in general, is that of
how absolutely inhumane and cruel people can be in trying to further 
their own narcissistic agendas, completely disregarding the pain and 
deaths and basic needs and freedoms of others in their desire for 
power, land, money, control. And in their mad desires, they can 
somehow convince others that what they are doing is for the
good of the state or the kingdom or the tribe or the race 
or the religion or the economy or hell, even mankind.
This seems timely somehow.

Ay-yi-yi.

Sundays can be like this. 

I just talked to my man and the volleyball tournament is done. His 
grandniece's team came in third in the girls' sixteen and under class and
will be going to the national finals. And in a sort of fitting way, some
of his sister's teammates from the All-American
Red Heads, are coming over to go out to dinner with 
Brenda and Mr. Moon will proudly be with them. Women athletes are
a family tradition. 
And here are two pictures that he sent me. The first one is what the 
view from his balcony looks like. 

They're staying at a resort on a golf course and even development like that cannot ruin a Florida sunset. He said the bats were out, dipping and gliding, eating the insects.

Here's another.

He took that last night.
When he went fishing. 
As I told him, that alligator was probably completely full from eating poodles. 

Carl Hiaasen would understand. 

Love...Ms. Moon